Open Your Eyes
by theheartofadetective
Summary: Sherlock has tried and failed to show Molly how he feels. But he needs her now, to understand and see how much he truly cares and how much she matters.


**A/N: So I went a bit nuts here. I've never delved into Sherlock's mind this far, so I made it emotionally chaotic- as I always find a way to do that. Hope you like, and hopefully you don't find its too ooc for Sherlock. **

She always thinks that he doesn't notice her, but he does. Every time, always. He does notice her, but he pretends to disregard, to dismiss sentiment. There are so many instances that she lets her eyes fall to the floor, in fear of hurt and rejection, because he has wounded her pride so many times. But all of those times he is looking at her, he's wanting to say something, but he can't. Mycroft has taught him over and over that no matter what, caring is not an advantage.

Sherlock is proven that one day, when he is standing on top of Bart's, set up by Moriarty, and forced to kill himself. Well, make Molly kill him. Moriarty doesn't realise how much she truly does count, and Sherlock can only wonder if that is blindness or if he is good at hiding it. Probably the latter; the grave look on her face when he shuts her down, to push caring away, proves that.

But now, after everything, Sherlock is too worn. Pushing away sentiment, being proven correct time and time again, reinforces his intentions.

Molly Hooper has been cut down by him so often, but she is always there for him. Even if she gets upset, she always comes back. She is always there for him regardless of what he does. She is sweet and kind, loyal and caring, and that is why he does not deserve her. But he is selfish, and he wants her anyway.

He needs her to see.

There was the time he manipulates her; the one time, and he never repeats it after that. He needs to show DI Dimmock the mark on two victim's feet, but Molly says she has already finished the autopsies. All he had to do was ask her to roll out the body again, but he chooses an alternative, and there is a constriction in his chest the second he compliments her new hair. It is a coy, to get her to do what he wants. All he had to do was ask and she would do it; she would do anything, yet he treats her like this.

And when he is down in the morgue, when she pulls out the bodies, he stares at her. He wants her to see, but she doesn't look up. She isn't stupid, she knows why he did it, yet complied anyway. It doesn't matter what kind of hairstyle Molly uses, because all that matters is that it's _her_.

If anyone took to the time to look, to see how Sherlock looks at her when she is looking away, they would see. They would see how _obvious_ it is. (He growls at this thought; stupid people with empty brains- they can't see anything). If they took a second to not be so consumed by their own dull, pointless lives, they would see the wild passion for her. They would see the regret; the guilt of all that he is done. But they would also see the caring, the way he feels the need to reach out but cannot convince himself to tell her, even though she deserves it- and a million times over.

And then there was Jim from IT. No, Jim Moriarty, but in disguise; and the disguise is for no one but Sherlock. He puts Sherlock in the position to rip Jim from IT apart to Molly. _Gay_ he says. She is angry with him, flustered as her hands ball into fists. She knows he is right, and she storms off. But when they see each other next, she acts as if it doesn't happen. She doesn't understand the primal feeling to rip Jim from IT's throat out when he walks in, eyes flickering to Molly because he is connected to her. And then he finds of Jim from IT isn't actually, and it makes him sick. To think of Molly in danger; for her to be in that position solely because of him. He is only lucky that Jim doesn't hurt her.

He must callous himself; keep behind an isolated wall. He does not share his feelings, he pretends not to care. But inside it is always stressful, painful- from several things. The fact that he can't stop thinking, ever. His mind runs quicker than it is possible, and half the words, half the thoughts come spewing out to make people hate him. But she has haunted him, she's encompassed him. She lives in every corner of his mind palace and it allows him to see the good in people again. If he was allowed to be home, John would help him see it, as he always does. But with Molly, it is different.

_Christmas. _He regrets this one most of all. Not only does he tear her apart, but in front of everyone that matters. He doesn't care that he's embarrassed himself, but he cares that he has done it to her. After how loyal, how caring she's been to him, and he ruins her holiday. She speaks up again, she tells him how horrible he is and he never wants to hear it. Never again. It makes his ears want to bleed because even if he may not see her all of the time, even if he pretends not to notice her, _he does_.

When he sees the present is for him, his heart wrenches as much as hers does, and for the first time, he apologises. He truly regrets, learns a bit- from Molly Hooper. It furthers her reasoning for thinking that she doesn't matter, and it makes him irate. He wants her to see, but how can she when he treats her with such hardness, such foul? He should be ashamed, he is, but is damaged, and dysfunctional. Somehow, he feels he'll never be capable of showing her what he wishes he could.

She would never call him heartless, would never dare say that he is a machine that can't feel; because she sees everything with him. She knows how he's feeling; if he's sad, ecstatic, anything. But now there is something new.

This time is different.

She says things he never expects anyone to say. She sees that he's sad, offers him all of the help in the world.

When Moriarty threatens those he cares for, he lets her know that she counts, but it is followed by asking for a favour. So Molly's small thread of hope is crushed when he is so drained when brought to her flat. It is in selfishness, as it always is. She counts, but he picks the wrong time to tell her. He is so brilliant, but can never get this right. Never will. She will probably never understand.

Over the next few weeks she gets a little sadder, a little more disappointed. It is because of the way he is acting. And no, of course it is not for her own sake, it is for his. She is the only one that knows that he is still alive, but is grieving just as much. She wants to help restore the old Sherlock, to give him some faith, but he pushes her away more than he ever has. It crushes her, but she still tries to keep hope for him.

This time he has done it. All Molly wants to do is get out of the house. Sherlock has been cooped up here for four months, and she has tried everything. To talk to him, to comfort him, to make him feel better somehow, but he refers to his same tactics.

She has a date that she knows won't work out, but she has to _try_. Sherlock lives in her flat for four months, and she can't watch him let himself go; to drift away where even in a room of people, he is lost and alone, because Moriarty won and he feels the defeat.

She shows her interest in him; she tries not to be overbearing and even at times she tries to pretend that she doesn't have interest. But even Molly knows she isn't good at it. He sees everything; he sees right through her. She is dull, weak Molly Hooper, and she needs to find a dull boyfriend to make herself feel better. She knows this isn't the time for dating, but Sherlock doesn't move. He doesn't seem like he wants to breathe. She can't watch him wither away anymore, it is too much and she needs to be out of the house for one night. To try and forget, to try and pretend that he is okay when he's not. She's tried everything and feels hopeless that it all fails.

He deduces the man she is going to go on a date with. He hacks into her online dating account while she is at work because there is nothing else to do. She knows he does it, but does not say a word. He tells her that the man is married. That he has, in fact, seen his wife this very night for a date night and his excuse to get out on a date with Molly is that work needs him to come in for an emergency.

He says it with pride in his deductions, in glee that he knows she won't go, but Molly cannot share the same positive aura. She can't see that he simply doesn't want her to go; that he wants her here with him and doesn't want to be alone. She thinks its boredom, but regardless it hurts.

He has taken her phone and he types out a text to this _date_ of hers to say that she isn't coming, but leaves it to her to send. She could get mad, but she doesn't. She could erase the text, not send it to the man, and go on her date anyway.

Sherlock watches as she stares at the phone for a few seconds, her face looking neutral, but he knows she's disappointed. She sends the text, and tosses the phone carelessly over to the sofa, not caring if it lands on the floor and breaks, or hits its target.

When her phone hits the sofa, he moves to her quickly, his hands grasping her upper arms. If anyone looked, they'd think his grip was forceful, but it is light; he is delicate with her, because he never has been before and she has always deserves to be treated as such.

"Don't you see, Molly," he practically growls. "John always saw, but never _observed_; you don't do either of those." The words are hissed through his teeth, he was just trying to get her to understand. He needs her to understand; he _needs her_.

Tears well up in her eyes as she stares at him, but she will not let them fall. There is a sad, constrained look on her face as her eyes rim red but moisture begins to fade. She doesn't want to cry in front of him, but is so tired of trying to stop the tears.

She has no idea what he is talking about, only assuming that she is about to be further insulted. For not noticing, not being John. She can't give him what he needs right now, or so it seems because he isn't any better. She winces, almost in defeat as if she is blaming herself.

He only gets frustrated further at this.

"This is not against you," he says, causing Molly to flinch when his voice rises, but before the next words come out, his voice is practically a whisper: "it is _for_ you."

When she opens her eyes to meet his again, they are wild. This time _his_ eyes are rimmed red, moisture glimmering across them as he reaches inside himself to try and reach the words he has wanted to say all along.

"I am not a good man, I am not a hero. And you… Molly-" he hesitates, his eyes closing, but he feels her relax under his touch. In seconds she understands, she sees how hard this is for him to say, and without any words yet, she tries to soothe him. "For some reason, you are always loyal, caring. It isn't something that I don't deserve."

Her eyes are flickering, searching his face as she sees him coming apart. His usual stone composure has fled. He is not crying (yet), but his expression to her is soft. "You always think that you don't matter, even after I've told you… I never do it in the right passion, and I have just wanted you to see."

"Sherlock…" Molly trails off, but words are caught in her throat. She is the most empathetic person he will ever know and there is moisture collecting in her eyes again to match his. It's almost as if she thinks that if she feels his pain enough, it will be taken away from him.

"I have always noticed you, even when others don't. Even when I have pretended not to, I have. Every time, always," he reflects her words purposefully from Christmas that seems so long ago, and she notices this immediately.

He is cupping her cheek now and she starts to cry, tears falling down into his hand as one falls down his own cheek. "I am sorry," he says in his strained voice, but he knows before the words even leave his lips that she forgives him.

He brushes his thumb along her cheekbone, wiping a tear away. She is leaning into his touch, but she cannot stop her crying. She can finally release, the hurt, the sadness, but also the relief. All she ever wanted was for him to notice. She does everything for him without asking for a thank you, without demanding recognition, but she just wants to matter. She wants to make a difference in his life and the only way that makes this moment better is when he pulls her in closer and presses his lips against hers.

The tip of her toes press up so that she can be closer against him, so that he picks her up so she can wrap her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck as she kisses him back over and over. There will never be enough time in the world for Sherlock to show her how he feels, to show her what she should have had long before. She will never hold anything against him. She takes him how he is and accepts him.

"I love you," she finally whispers between kisses, her mouth becoming hungrier for him as her hips press against his. Sherlock's hands drift up the back of her shirt, experiencing Molly. He wants to feel her skin, the way her body feels warm against him, soft against his own skin. Her hands tangle into the curls at the nape of his neck as she snakes his lips apart and kisses him tenderly.

When he brings them into her bedroom, he rolls them onto the bed. He kisses her, and lets his hands explore her skin, but nothing more. Molly is exhausted from everything, from what he's put her through and Sherlock is exhausted from being dead. But somehow this will be easier. Even when things are back to normal, when he can come out of the shadows, things will not stay the same with Molly. She will be more than just his pathologist. Everything is out now, and once it is safe, he has nothing to fear from sentiment.


End file.
